Dying in America
by InvisibleEmotion
Summary: Rent - fic! What if RENT ended differently. What if Mimi did die! AHHHH Roger and Mark cope. Blood, fear and anger take over. Unexpected choices lead to a dangerous end...
1. Facing Your Lonliness

Part 1  
  
Roger pushed Mark aside as he stumbled through the door. He thoughtlessly dropped his jacket on the floor and blindly made his way to the worn out couch where he collapsed, all the while trying to hide his tears from Mark.  
  
With a distressed ringing in his ears, Mark absentmindedly picked up Roger's jacket, folded it, and placed it gently on the coffee table. The coffee table that they savaged from some stranger's dumpster, along with two stools, a cowbell, and the same couch Roger was currently collapsed upon. A memory triggered as Mark recalled everyone trying to drag the couch up the stairs to the loft. It seemed like so long ago. Mark remembered the laugh on Mimi's face as they dropped the couch and it bombarded down two flights of stairs.  
  
Mimi... the name echoed inside his pounding head with such a ferocity it seemed like the couch crashing its way down the flights of stairs, chanting "mi...mi...mi...mi" as it hit each step.  
  
It was so hard to believe she was dead.  
  
But... it was true. Roger and Mark had only just returned from her funeral.  
  
More tears came to Mark's eyes as a heart-wrenching sob broke from Roger. Mark ached to comfort him, but he was also in the desperate need for comfort himself. He took a step towards the sprawled Roger and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. Roger let loose another harsh sob and buried his face in the cushions, trying to stifle the noise, and turned away from Mark.  
  
Mark's heart ached and he pulled his shaking hand away. He had never before seen Roger cry. It was usually himself who cried as Roger comforted him. The Breakup with Maureen, the death of anger, Roger had always been there for Mark. But now, Roger was the one needing comforting , and Mark... Mark was lost and powerless, still overcome with the sorrow from the freshness of Mimi's death.  
  
He turned away from Roger and ran into the small bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He searched for the faucet through his tears and splashed cold water onto his face in a useless attempt to slow the flow of tears. Face dripping, he lifted his head to look in the mirror at his pathetic reflection. His face was drained of all color, his eyes blotchy and red, his hair scraggly and out of place. Without thinking, he picked up a comb and ran it through his messy hair. Seeing the comb in the mirror, he dropped it as if it were scalding hot. The comb was Mimi's.  
  
Mark collapsed on the floor, grasping Mimi's brush in his hands. It was horrors beyond horrors to lose such a close friend, and only when Angel had dies had Mark also experienced such wrenching pain. But now, the pain was to a new maximum, the shooting in his chest was unbearable. First Angel, Now Mimi. He had lost two best friends in the battle against AIDS and it simply wasn't fair.  
  
Mark leaned back against the door, trying to cancel out his miserable thoughts.  
  
Through the wood he could hear Roger sobbing away.  
  
Proud, strong Roger, reduced to hopeless cries.  
  
Mark covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
He couldn't take the pain. 


	2. when you really detatch from feeling ali...

(Author's note- I don't own mark, roger, mimi or any of these characters. Jonathan Larson, (a.k.a GOD) does... So don't sue me.... )  
  
A couple of hours past.  
Late afternoon turned to early night.  
Neither Mark nor Roger had moved.  
Mark finally lifted his hands off his ears.  
The light sound of Roger snoring crept to his ears.  
  
He slightly opened the door and peered into the loft where Roger was dead asleep on the couch, holding Mimi's fuzzy coat in his arms. Mark had a sudden flashback from Halloween, of Collins clutching the overcoat Angel gave him for Christmas.  
  
Zipping back to the present, Mark was suddenly aware of the water running onto the floor. Having been lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed the faucet left on and the mini-flood declining from the crappy sink. Mark sighed and got to his feet drowsily, turning off the dripping faucet and pulling a drawer open in search of a towel. He pulled out an emaciated washcloth, and something fell out of it and clattered to the cold floor.  
  
Mark, not taking notice of the gentle clang, wiped up the water and threw the soaked washcloth into the bathtub, as if on autopilot. Mark was completely mindless; his only thoughts were on the death of Mimi. He didn't pay attention to anything else, it was all done out of routine. Mark's conscience was occupied with the sinking into the dark corners of his mind, and even that felt fake.  
  
Suddenly, there was a decent cracking sound as Mark stepped on the something that had fallen earlier. He looked down upon the cheap, broken razor. It was one of those crappy plastic disposable razors, and it now lay in several pieces. As inexpensive as it may be, the roommates had no money for a new one. Strange, how Mark's mind was set on the breaking of a razor. He was almost ashamed of himself, for his mind tracking off Mimi's death. And yet, not thinking of her was almost bearable. But, of course as Mark thought of not thinking, it only led him to more thinking of Mimi.  
  
His chest twanged painfully yet again. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, hoping to soothe the wringing of his heart.  
  
He picked up the glistening razor blade from the shattered plastic. He turned it in his fingers, and it cut into his fingertips. A slight stinging sensation was felt, but it didn't hurt.  
The single pain Mark felt was his heart ripped apart from Mimi's death. There was no other existing pain.  
In fact, Mark thought as he lowered the razor blade to his arm, anything feels better than this internal torture.  
  
He dragged the razor blade across the smooth skin of his inner left forearm, a single, heavy time. After a second, a thin line of blood appeared.  
  
"Mine" whispered Mark to himself. "This is my fault"  
  
And over and over and over again he sliced the razor through his skin, for he was finally in control of something and he could do with it as he pleased. Plus, the sharp burning outer pain coming from his left arm felt enjoyable compared to the burning overload stabbing at his heart.  
  
Finally, Mark Cohen set down the bloody razor and stared at the blood  
protruding from the dozens of cuts.  
The shiny crimson glistened in the fading light, and Mark was mesmerized. He had never seen anything so beautiful.  
He smeared the blood all over his arm, covering every inch of skin.  
Mark, in spite of himself, grinned manically, almost proud of himself for the beauty he created.  
  
Catching a glimpse of his delusional smirk in his reflection, Mark suddenly recalled his senses.  
  
"Omigod" he whispered, staring at his bloody arm. What have I done? He thought overdramatically. Then his mind went blank. He stumbled out of the bathroom, pulling on his jacket. "I need to film something" he muttered pointlessly to the sleeping Roger, Then he grabbed his camera and exited the loft.  
  
Stepping outside into the dark, cold January night, Mark wandered the still crowded streets of town. There were still people strolling around, going on with their everyday life.  
Mark turned on the camera and began filming "January 13th." He began bitterly. "Close in on everyday people, going on with their pathetic lives and not even giving a damn about Mimi's ... loss. It's not like they even know she's dead. They probably never even knew if she were alive or not. That's what our fucking society has been reduced to. No one gives a shit about anything!"  
People were beginning to avoid Mark. He didn't realize how loudly he was speaking.  
Mark lowered his voice as he recognized which area of town he was in. "Close in on the Cat Scratch Club." He said quietly, zooming in on the hidden descending concrete staircase. A cheap sign hung from one of the railings, reading "Now Hiring"  
  
(Author's Note- for those you who don't know The Cat Scratch Club was where Mimi worked- it was a saucy little place and she danced – probably a stripper or pole-dancing job- but ... yea... ANYWAY- all of yous who have been sending reviews- KEEP EM COMING! For the few of you who haven't- SEND REVIEWS I live for them.... Thank you and LUV YA ALL) 


	3. And i see Mimi everywhere

(Author's note- I don't own mark, roger, Mimi or any of these characters. I wish I did... especially Roger * sigh* But the sacred being who DOEs ( or... did) own everything about sanctified RENT is ( or ...was ) Jonathan an Larson, a.k.a GOD... So don't sue me....  
  
Roger sat beside the reclined Mimi, holding her hands and stroking her face.  
Mark, Collins, Maureen and Joanne seemed to fade into the background as Roger bent over Mimi's weak body, trying to say what took him so long to figure out.  
  
"I should tell you" Mimi coughed in their ritual beginning of a conversation "I love you". Her hand limply fell off the table.  
  
In a split second, Roger felt a million ways at once. His heart clenched and fluttered. She loved him. But who did she think she was? Leaving him alone with his guitar. He wasn't going to let her go. Not without telling her how he felt. She had to hold on, there was something she had to hear. Mimi stirred as Roger picked up his guitar. It wasn't much, but it took all year.  
  
Roger strummed out the beginning notes to their song. His Song. His one Song. His Glory. The Song that had taken months to writes.  
  
The Song that was only released by the gift of Mimi's love.  
  
The Song that had been birthed into existence by the presence of Mimi's magical eyes.  
  
"I should tell you, I should tell you. I have always loved you. You can see it in my eyes"  
  
There. He said it. After all this time, Both Mimi and Roger knew they really loved each other. Roger bent down and kissed Mimi gently on the lips. They'd live happily ever after! Mimi would sit right up and shake of her illness! After all this time- They'd finally be together!  
  
Mimi lightly smiled, and closed her precious eyes.  
  
She was gone  
  
"MIMI!!!" Roger suddenly fell from a couch and hit the floor with an awakening thump.  
  
The cry of Mimi's name was still on his lips as he wildly searched the loft for her.  
  
Silence conquered over Roger's confusion and he shook the sleep from his face as he realized it was a dream.. a nightmare.  
  
But it wasn't.  
The dream was a replay of a memory of a night not too long ago. The night of Mimi's death.  
Mimi...  
  
An empty hole in the bottom of Roger's heart suddenly shattered. Was it possible for something that was nothing to even break? Was this what happened when you were in love? Roger hadn't even believed in love before he met Mimi. He just dreamed about being a successful songwriter. Yeah right. He only wrote one great song, and that took him a good year. His one song glory was for Mimi.  
That song was all he had ever lived for.  
Now mimi was gone.  
His song was gone.  
His glory was gone.  
Everything that mattered... gone  
How long would it take before he was gone too? 


End file.
